


This Is Why We Have Rules

by LindleyJo



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:58:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2300612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindleyJo/pseuds/LindleyJo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God knows he could make do with nearly anyone at Abel, and in this dreary wasteland everyone was usually in the mood for a good lay. But it didn’t matter. They weren’t her. </p><p>Written for Iron Zombies! Challenge - September 2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Why We Have Rules

**Author's Note:**

> I used this prompt: http://imgur.com/1naOZJ3 
> 
> So... originally this was intended to be just a PWP, but then I realized that I am awful at writing smut so this is what it is instead.

They were always careful. They had to be. Late night activities with a subordinate were frowned upon even during the zombie apocalypse. And if the Major found out, rest assured that there would be consequences. On a good day, maybe they would just be banned from running missions together. On a bad day, one of them would probably be permanently reassigned to New Canton or Mullins. And they both knew it would not be Janine.

And Simon had grown to like it here. Sure, it smelled like hints of sewage and the comms shack constantly looked like it had been through the apocalypse – but he figured that’s how it was everywhere – but he had friends here. He had a life here. He had _her_ here.

So they were careful. Avoiding anything more than a passing glance in the courtyards. Strict rules about how much he was allowed to flirt (after all, it would seem even more suspicious if the overly-flirtatious Simon suddenly stopped hitting on her altogether, right?). Protocol to follow for each late-night rendezvous – knock three times, wait thirty seconds, knock again twice. And most importantly, they couldn’t leave any evidence. 

They’d been successful so far. A little over a year and they’d only had one run in, but luckily Sam was gullible believed their excuses without a second thought. After that, things had gotten stricter for a while – Janine decided they couldn’t risk meeting more than once a week, after dark, and only if it wasn’t all that bright out.

It was killing him.

God knows he could make do with nearly anyone at Abel, and in this dreary wasteland everyone was usually in the mood for a good lay. But it didn’t matter. They weren’t _her_. 

He honestly didn’t know what it was about Janine that had drawn him to her so strongly. Maybe she was just a good shag? (She was.) Maybe the whole forbidden romance feel of it turned him on? (It did.) Maybe it came down to the fact that she actually had a bed and everyone else only had cots or sleeping bags? (It didn’t hurt.) He had no idea, but in the end it didn’t actually matter why. He needed to see her, and he’d be damned if he had to wait another week to do it. 

It wasn’t a night they’d agreed on. The moon wasn’t quite full, but it was bright enough to see the zoms clawing at the outer fence. The glow of lanterns flickered in a few of the tents, but Simon could not have cared less. It was past curfew, so there shouldn’t be anyone out anyway, and he knew for a fact that Janine had the night off. It was worth the risk.

To say she was shocked to see him was a bit of an understatement. Luckily she missed him by about an inch with the trusty crowbar that she kept by her nightstand. Thank god she was a stickler for not wasting bullets. 

“Mr. Lauc- Si! What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she gawked, lowering the crowbar slowly to her side. “You’re not supposed to be here, you _know_ that. You - _both_ of us could get into serious trouble if someone found out!” 

Normally in movies that would have been the point where the man cuts the woman off with a lust-filled kiss. Simon knew better. Janine would literally kick his ass if he even tried it. That was yet another thing he found so attractive about her. So he let her ramble on.

And on. 

And on.

And honestly it was really starting to get annoying to stand there and be lectured by an attractive woman when he was currently nursing a rather intense hard-on. 

Finally, she took a short pause and he took the opportunity. “That’s all good and well, Jenny,” he drawled, stepping over to her and putting his hands on her bare shoulders. “But I’m already here.” She gave him that curt glare that looked so good on her and he knew he had to keep going. “And we’ve both had a hard week.” She was still glaring and, if anything, he was getting even more turned on. “And I _did_ do some yoga earlier. So you know… nice and limber.” 

Her glare started to falter. 

“Fine,” her response was short and curt. “But you are _never_ permitted to surprise me in here like that again, do you understand?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said cockily, smirking at Janine as he started pulling his shirt over his head. “Course, Jenny. Wouldn’t dare.” 

The room went absurdly quiet until Simon dropped his shirt to the floor. Then everything broke. Janine nearly pounced on him at the soft sound. Her lips trailing up his neck to his jaw line, ghosting over the five-o-clock shadow that made him even more dashing. “You win,” she whispered, lips centimeters from his. He could feel her breath on his lips, could almost taste her on his tongue. “But just this once.”

Simon groaned and pulled her to him. A buildup of sexual tension and frustration exploded into the room. Later they would be thankful for the ever-present moans and creaking of the zoms at the fence that masked their cries. 

They woke the next morning still tangled in each other, hair a mess and a satisfied grin on both their faces. It was slow, waking up together. Almost romantic, if either of them were actually interesting in that kind of thing. Simon kissed along her collarbone to her neck, mirroring Janine’s action that had started it all the night before. She smiled sleepily at him and turned her head to the side. “Morning, Si,” she grumbled.

“Morning, Jenny,” he responded, pressing more lazy kisses to her neck. And then he noticed it. Right where her jaw line met her neck, in the spot that he knew she loved, was a giant, purple bruise. And there was no way anyone would believe she had burnt herself with a curling iron. He pulled away from her, trying desperately not to sound panicked. “You don’t happen to own a turtleneck by any chance, Jenny?”

She turned away from him, burying her face sleepily into her flattened pillow. “A turtleneck?” she grumbled. “Bit warm for a turtleneck, isn’t it?” He waited quietly for the realization to sink in, a nervous grin on his face. It only took a minute. “Wait… why would I need a turtleneck, Simon?”

“Heh, well…” he found himself standing and desperately trying to find his clothes as quickly as possible. “Ah… see…” Shirt, briefs, shorts, right shoe. Where in god’s name was his left?

“Simon?” Janine’s voice was downright terrifying as she got up and looked in the mirror. “Damn it, Simon! We have these rules for a reason!” Still naked from the night before, Janine made her way to her dresser, rummaging in the top drawer.  
He desperately looked around the room, even getting down on the floor, before he found his left shoe hiding under one of Janine’s nightstands. By the time he stood, Janine had pulled a small, make-up palette from her drawer. “Luckily I’ve dealt with this before. Sara loved to bite too, you know,” she explained rather casually for the situation. “Just don’t do it again, please. I’m running rather low on concealer.”

He gaped at her for a moment before making a mental note to pick up a ton of whatever concealer was the next time they did a supply run at a department store.


End file.
